


When Winter Thaws

by retrotg



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, M/M, spanking threats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-13 10:17:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19249156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retrotg/pseuds/retrotg
Summary: Alpha and Omega dynamics are specific to wildling clans and are a new thing to Jon. Hes learning to cope with being suddenly labelled as an "Omega" and what that entails. Also Winter is coming to a close and summer fun is on the way. Tormund is unashamed in his desire for Jon.Im shit at summaries this is my first fic





	1. Chapter 1

Living North of the wall has its ups and downs. When Jon Snow first left the safety of Castle Black with Tormund Giantsbane’s wildling clan he had some idea of what he was getting himself into, however his time spent with Ygritte was preoccupied with worry, love, fear and distrust. So you could say he hasn’t had a true free folk experience until now. He knew winters were cold and harsh and he knew wildlings can be colder and harsher. Maybe not all of them, though. Jon finds himself drawn to one wildling in particular. Not that he’s admitted it to anyone yet – not even to himself.

The crow spends the tail end of winter with the clan quietly. He does his chores, he makes polite conversation, and he hunts good amounts of game. He spends his evenings wandering the surrounding woods with Ghost or hiding away in his tent. The free folk allow him some privacy. After all he’s been through the clan figured he’d need some time alone to heal. Jons coming out of his shell more recently as the colder nights warm up. So he’s being more intensely trained in Wildling customs by the elders. Some of them are similar to ones he grew up with himself, but some are different. Firstly, he learned that men lie with other men without shame. He was made aware of this, by a quiet old woman he only knows as Miss Mariot during a rather rambunctious mealtime,

“You best wipe that look off yer face before I do it for you, little crow.” Jon turns towards her quickly, averting his eyes from two men who are drunkenly kissing.

“Beg pardon?”

The woman gestures towards the men and wags a stern finger towards him, “That look you’re giving those two lovers. I’ll have you thrashed by the Chief for thinkin’ lowly of ‘em, boy.”

Jon’s cheeks flush a little at the threat and having been caught staring, he’s only witnessed Tormund thrash one other man before and it looks like a deeply humiliating experience, “Men can lie with other men? Where I’m from they’d have me hung for something like that…”

“Well we aren’t South of the wall anymore, boy. If you truly believe men can’t love each other then you should keep your stares to yourself. It’ll save your hide a lot of trouble, I promise that.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Truth be told I…” Jon’s words catch in his throat for a second, “Uhm… Truthfully, I found those restrictions… unkind…”

She nods, knowingly, and takes his hand gently, “You’re free to be yourself here, crow. The True North does not judge a man on who he loves, but on who he hates.”

Jon bristles a little, uncomfortable with how quickly she figured out his secret. He stands and nods to her, putting on a fake smile, “So no altercations with the Chief, I hope?”

“No, I’ll mercy you this time. Just don’t do it again, boy. Tormund is too busy to be dealing with unruly behaviour.”

“I’m sure he is. I’ll not do it again.” He steps away from her and goes to collect wood for the campfire as the men are too drunk to remember to do it themselves. It’s a lot colder when he walks out into the forest, not far enough so he cannot see the glow of their temporary camp but enough for him to worry of wild animals. The nights are warmer than before though, the crow finds himself wondering what a hearty summer is like in the True North. His musings are cut short when Jon hears rustling sounds and notices Chief Tormund and one of his friends, Ralik Gromstone, pissing up against a tree. They are noticeably inebriated and loudly laughing at something that probably isn’t as funny as they think it is. Still, Jon likes to see people having fun. He begins to pick up sticks and branches for firewood when Ralik hollers at him.

“Hey, Tor! Its that Jon guy!”

Tormund looks over at Jon then, a wide grin spreading over his flushed face, “So it is! Whats a pretty little crow like you doing bending over like that?”

Jon rolls his eyes at the comments, Tormund’s jokey flirting tends to step it up a notch after he’s had a few drinks, “Jus’ collecting some wood, Chief!”

“Ah, call me ‘Sir’! Much prettier from your mouth, I bet.” He finishes and tucks his cock away into his breeches, “You not drinkin’, pup?”

“No, Tormund. Not really a fan of waking up crack of dawn with an ache in my head. Especially when putting down the tents of unable bodies is my chore. We are close to where we stop and start building a village so I’ll be drinking when we get there.”

“See, Ralik? Told you he’s an omega. Does as he’s told and looks great bent over.”

That is the second wildling culture Jon is made aware of. He’s heard of omegas before, but only in the context of wolf packs. Are the rules the same with people? Jon knows he can come across as meek sometimes, or embarrassingly submissive. But never without good reason to be! His thoughts must be written on his face today because Ralik reads his mind instantly, “Aw, is the baby crow confused? Omegas are the little bitches of a clan, Jon. They suck cocks and take fingers up the arse when they’re ordered to by us Alphas, right Tor?”

Tormund grunts and hip bumps into Ralik hard enough for him to fall to the ground, his dick still out and pissing on himself a little, “Shut up, boy! Don’t putrefy his mind with your perversion. Little crow, take yourself to Yergen. You’ll know him by the string of ears ‘round his neck. He’ll tell you exactly what Alphas and Omegas are. This dumb fucks got no idea how to treat an Omega.”

Jons glad for Tormund’s order as it gives him an excuse to exit the conversation and hide his blushing face. He rushes back to camp, drops the bundle of sticks he collected into the fire, and hides away in his tent. Ghost is asleep with him and Jon happily cowers under the pelts until morning.

When morning does arrive, the sun is uncharacteristically shining down on the campsite. It is even warm enough for Jon to shed his long cloak whilst he works at dismantling tents. The area is busy and bustling with life but rather quiet from the overall drowsiness that a warm morning brings. Tormund makes his way towards Jon, “Miss Mariot and I had a wee chat this mornin ‘bout you, baby crow. Told me how you were behavin’ yesterday.”

Jon tenses a little, “Aye, but she said she wouldn’t tell you.”

“She said she wouldn’t have me thrash you. Not that I wouldn’t be made aware. Put the pelts down and face me properly when I speak to you, Crow.”

Normally, Jon would think Tormund’s commands come from a joking place. But this morning his Chief seems genuinely unhappy with his actions so he obediently puts what he’s holding down and stands before him, “Sorry, Sir.”

Tormund grunts and crosses his arms over his chest, “Better. I hear you were eyeing up a coupla lovers. Men lying with other men disgusts you, aye?”

“No, Sir.”

“Are you sure? Because what were you doin starin like they’d spat in yer ale. They came to me and said you made em feel nasty. Now, I don’t know why Miss Mariot told me I should let this instance slide. She wouldn’t tell me. How about you tell me, little crow, why I shouldn’t put you across my knee right here and now?” Tormunds voice deepens with the threat, and fellow free folk start to eavesdrop and watch the encounter.

“I swear I weren’t lookin with disgust, Tor…”

“E’ryone who saw you say otherwise. You think men who lie with each other are lowly? That they are weak? Or wrong?” The Chief leans down a little into Jon’s face, “Y’think that about me? I’ve been with countless men and women. You think less of me?”

Jons eyes flash with fear at Tormunds accusation, he shakes his head as he tries to explain away the situation, “No, I don’t! I would never think less of you! I just… Am unused to wildling ways. I didn’t know you allowed it.”

“All I’m hearin is a baby crow who’s tryin to save his skin. I should let you get away with this just because you didn’t know about it? No way, drop your breeches.”

“Tor… It’s not that at all! You know it isn’t…”

“How do I know something you wont tell me? Get o’er here.” As Tormund reaches for Jon’s scruff, Jon steps aside and ducks away from the grab.

“I swear it, Tormund! The reason I was lookin is because… Is because…” Jon looks over at the gathering crowd and grimaces. He steps towards Tormund and stands on his tip toes. The Chief understands his request and leans down, offering his ear. Few words are exchanged but Tormund’s hurt confusion morphs into regret and understanding nonetheless.

“I see… Thank you for tellin me, I know men from the South end of the Wall would rather take a hiding over admitting to it. Carry on with what you were doing, little crow. I’ll bring you some breakfast when you’re done.” The crowd reacts in a mixed fashion. Some groan at the lack of a good show and others sigh in relief with Jon. Jons relief is also evident but he nods and goes back to disassembling his neighbours’ tent. When he’s done, and Tormund has returned with two bowls of porridge, Jon is only just calming down from the incident. The crow is absolutely grateful that he wasn’t publicly taken over Tormund’s knee. He already is being labelled as an ‘omega’, whatever that is. No need for a demonstration. Jon sits down on a log and accepts the breakfast, nodding his thanks to Tormund who sits beside him to eat his own.

“You got me in a sensitive spot, back there.”

“I could tell. You really were gonna thrash me over that?”

“Abso-fuckin-lutely. You’d not be sat eatin your breakfast had you not explained yourself, that’s for sure. You haven’t spoken to Yergen yet, but Omegas don’t get away with misbehaviour in MY clan.”

“I’ll keep that in mind then. Aye, about that. How does one go about not being whatever an Omega is? If it means what I’ve heard Im not too keen.”

Tormund laughs into his porridge, “Oh, pretty crow, you can’t change it. And anyway I think you’ll find being an Omega in your favour if you learn to behave.”

“I think we both know doing what I’m told isn’t my forte.”

“I’d disagree. I think obeying is what you’d be best at, pretty thing. “

Jon raises his eyebrows and hides his blush in eating, “You sound so sure of it.”

“Oh, I am. Heres how I see it. All it takes to tame the wild Jon Snow is either a good strong Alpha bedding you hard enough for your screams of pleasure to be heard across the entire North or a trip across my knee.”

“Aye, what a shame that neither of those things will happen then.”

“Well you came pretty close to the latter.”

“And yet, here I am sat comfortably.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute when you get cheeky, little crow.” Tormund collects Jon’s now empty bowl from his hands and chucks them into a nearby pile, “Truthfully, you’ll be lucky to make it a week without one of those things happening.” Jon looks to him with some confusion as he watches his Chief preparing to leave.

“Because I don’t think I can last another week without subjecting you to BOTH, darlin.”

And with those last words, Tormund leaves to continue supervising the workflow of his camp. Leaving a red-faced Jon to mull over what has just happened.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon gets himself into shit

Jon spent the rest of the day quietly. Every time he thought back to his morning encounter with the Chief his heart speeds up and a blush spread across his cheeks, and embarrassingly enough he has even began to wonder ‘what if’ he had let Tormund take him across his knee… Tormund had tried to give him a public thrashing but the details of how bad it would have been were left unsaid. Would he take his hand to Jon’s arse? Or would he use a strap, a switch? Would he be stripped fully or would just his behind be bared? The crow isnt really sure why hes even thinking about it. Afterall, Tormund would be upset with him. Disappointed. Ashamed, even. Ashamed that he is having to beat Jon like a child.

Why does the idea disappointing Tormund feel like a boot of a horse’s hoof to his chest?

Sure, Tormund is his Chief. That is explanation enough for Jon to fear letting Tormund down. Jon was offered the opportunity to lead the wildlings alongside him but he readily declined. He doesn’t want that responsibility anymore. But now, as he thinks back on it, maybe he was never truly offered a position of power anyway. Would it have been revoked after finding out he is an Omega? – whatever that really means. Or did Tormund already sense his submissive natures and only offer it out of courtesy knowing fully well that Jon would refuse.   
A fresh wave of shame washes over Jon. Does Tormund not truly respect him? Does he-

“Jon Snow! You’re late for hunting. Mount a horse and get going before I tell the Chief!”

The crow recognises the man speaking to him as Yergen from the necklace of human ears draped round his neck. It is mildly disgusting to see but Jon remembers Tormund instructing him to speak to Yergen should he have any questions on wildling traditions so he will make sure to be polite to him. Jon notes that hes been more polite these past weeks… But only to certain people… Some wildlings radiate a sort of energy that demands respect. Is that what an Alpha is? His train of thoughts are interrupted when he feels a hand lift his chin up. When did Yergen get so close?

“Did you hear me, boy?” Yergan holds onto Jons chin with a too tight grip.

“Sorry, Sir! I heard you. I guess im a little off today…”

The old man raises his eyebrows and nods, letting go of his face, “Was this morning the first time you’ve been threatened by an Alpha?”

“How did you know?” Jon shifts a little and lets a sheepish smile creep onto his face.

“I can tell. Don’t worry for being dazed, boy. It is natural to be thrown off kilter after facing an Alphas wrath.”

“Tormund told me to talk to you about that, actually. Is there any way I can not be an Omega?”

“I will explain to you the details soon,” Yergen spins Jon by his upper arm towards a saddled horse and swats his arse, “But after you get on with your chores, boy.”

Jon skips a step in response to the pat and quickly mounts the mare. His hunting group is small today; just him and two other men. Ralik and Burnsmont. He recognises Ralik to emit the same aura as Yergen, but Burnsmont does not. Bur must be an omega too. As they ride into the forest, Ralik speaks, “You’ve heard about the situation, little crow?”

Jon takes his eyes off the forest floor to look at him, “No? I did notice we’re 2 men short though…”

“Yeah. Theres been silver spiders spotted in the area, so they are going to take care of that while we hunt. Which means you and Bur stick together today. Tormund told me not to let a little Omega like you alone in the forest in these conditions. Burs going to look after you. Hes a beta.”

Jon bristles at this information. So Tormund really doesn’t trust OR respect him. He hides his offence in a question, “What’s a beta?”

Burnsmont pipes up, clearly having been prepared for the question, “We are rare in the North… We aren’t submissive or nurturing like Omegas, but our presence doesn’t command respect like an Alphas. But that doesn’t mean we cannot lean towards one side of the spectrum.”

“Most southerners are betas. That’s how they get to forget about the roles. They bred it out of each other and created a nation of outliers.” Ralik spits this comment with probably more venom than was necessary. Jon notices Burs deflates a little.  
“Could I be a Beta?” Jon asks quietly.

That cuts through the thick air of offence as both men start to laugh. A lot. As if that was the funniest thing they’ve ever heard in their lives. Jon decides he doesn’t really like them.

“No, little omega. You can’t.” Bur exaggeratively wipes away a tear from his eye.

“Don’t fuckin’ laugh in my face. I was only askin’…” The crow yips at his horse, which in turn causes the other two’s horses to speed up slightly. They wobble a little in their saddles.

“Aww don’t get pissy, Jon. We were only havin’ some fun,” Ralik leans over to Bur and loudly whispers, “Think hes bein a brat ‘cause he’s not getting’ a cock up him?”

When Burnsmont sniggers at that comment is when Jon decides he’s had enough, “Fuck you guys, after all I’ve done for the Wildlings an’ this is what I get?” He digs his heels into the horse’s belly and steers her sideways, riding away from them. They sound shocked at his outburst and call out to him warnings of not only the spiders in the area but of Tormunds order. Jon Snow decides, again, that he doesn’t care as he rides out of their sights and towards his favourite hunting grounds. Fuck them, and fuck Tormund’s orders. If the Chief doesn’t trust him to hunt alone then he doesn’t care if his disobedience disappoints him.

Ok maybe he does care, but hes already done it so he might as well prove him wrong. He can hunt plenty of game for the camp and Tormund will realise he was an idiot to doubt him.

As Jon reaches the hunting grounds, he dismounts and hitches the mare to a tree. He ducks down into some newly grown tall grass and quietly stalks towards a small gathering of elk. The air is crisp and clean out here, spring clearly having an effect on the local flora and fauna. Upon closer inspection of the herd, Jon notices that there are even 2 or 3 does that appear to be carrying. He will make sure to spare the pregnant ones. That means more game for the future.

Regret begins to hit him harder… Had he not have stormed off like a child they could have 4 or 5 elk to bring home. Now he will be lucky to kill 2 before the herd bolts. Jon knots an arrow and lets it loose into the biggest elk’s throat. It screams and falls to the ground as the others scramble. Jon manages to loose another arrow into a second, average sized, elk’s eye. That one falls down silently. The herd is dispersed now and some run past him back towards where he came from. Jon turns towards them as he hears more elk squeal in death.

Shit.

Ralik and Burnsmont followed him.

Between the two they manage to kill 3 more and wound one. Jon is about to suggest they follow the blood trail and finish it off until Raliks eyes land on his, filled with poorly concealed frustration. The glare sends a jolt of shame and anxiety through Jons spine. Anxiety builds into panic as Ralik stalks towards him quickly and yanks him to his feet by his wrist. He turns Jon away and uses the end of his longbow to whip across his arse 3 times. The crow gasps after each strike and covers his backend with his hand after the 3rd one clips the top of his thighs.  
Ralik lets his wrist go but swaps it for the front of his cloak, pulling him forward and up onto his tiptoes into his rage red face. Despite his obvious anger, he speaks in a low and commanding tone that reaches Jon’s core, “Get on your fucking horse, crow. You’re lucky I can’t whip you silly out here or the spiders will hear us.”

Jon swallows the lump in his throat and nods, not really wanting to be the cause of them all being eaten by giant ass spiders. His cloak is roughly let go and he stumbles onto his unsteady feet, quickly rushing out of Ralik’s reach to unhitch his mare. He hears Bur offerer to escort him home as hes loading the hunted elk onto the backs of their horses.

The ride home is a quiet and mildly uncomfortable one. Burnsmont rides with Jon’s mare tethered to his own horse, just to be sure Jon doesn’t bolt again apparently. As if he would. Ralik isnt even someone Jon gives a shit about but the feeling he got after being slapped was one of the worst hes felt. Not even because of the smarting of his ass but because of some primal urge to rectify the situation. Something in the way the alpha commanded him to saddle up made it so he couldn’t even fathom disobeying.

When they arrive back at camp everyone turns to look at them, clearly confused as to their early return. And when Ralik’s wife notices his disappearance she rushes towards them fearfully, “Where is he? Where is my husband?!”  
Bur raises a calming palm towards her, “Don’t worry, he is fine. I just had to bring the little crow home early, is all.” She sighs with relief and what looks to be her sister embraces her. She whispers reassurances into her ear as they walk away to continue to whatever they were doing. At this point, Tormund is aware of their return and is swiftly making his way towards them. Jon busies himself with unloading the carrion, refusing to look at his Chief. Yes, hes ashamed of the situation he put himself in but he is also still hurt from Tormund’s original orders for him to be guarded.

Bur quickly fills him in on the situation, making sure to express that the teasing that caused Jon to leave was well natured. Tormund wasn’t born yesterday, though. And he knows what Ralik is like.

“You idiots are all going to be fuckin’ punished.”

Both Jon and Bur’s heads shoot up at that.

“Bur, you and Ralik will be on fucking cleaning duty for until we arrive to our settlement for winding him up. As well as extra time walking the perimeter at night. You two know hes new to this. Get a grip and quit makin’ fun of him. And you…,”  
Tormund’s eyes meet Jons. He winces, waiting to hear his fate, “You, my little crow, have earned yourself a sound thrashing.”

Jon’s heart sinks as Tormund hands him a knife, “Go cut yerself a switch, pup. Make it a good’un cause if it ain’t, you’ll regret it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Join my jonmund discord! 
> 
> https://discord.gg/TfWG5nb


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shit goes down

The whole camp is quiet, waiting and watching for Jon’s next move. The crow looks down at the knife he is clutching in his hand. It is honestly a beautiful dagger, with engravings and willowing up the handle and into the blade itself. Jon knows this is Tormund’s personal knife. This is one of Tormund’s favourite knives…

Jon turns and, with one fast motion, chucks the offending object into the horse shit that the mare he was stood next to had made. He turns back to Tormund and looks up at him with what he hopes is a face of indignation. However, he expected a look of shock, at least, from his defiance but all he sees in the Chief’s expression is one that looks very specifically like he had suspected this outcome. Was he really that predictable?

“Well then…” Tormund shrugs nonchalantly and turns towards the resident blacksmith, “Dron, I can use your razor strop right? I’ll have a new one made for you. Go get it.”

The lump in Jon’s throat grows a little as he tries to swallow it down. He’s not one for a straight razor but he has seen a strop before; his father used one to straighten his knives back into shape. Eddard had overheard Catelyn one night threaten Jon with a thrashing from the implement but unfortunately it was ‘discarded’ as ‘Ned had decided to grow his beard out for now’. Thinking back on it Jon appreciates the silent protection from it.

Dron nods and walks towards where his tools are set up to retrieve it while Tormund’s attention is now on Jon, “Are you gonna just stand there pouting or are you gonna get over here?”

Jon puffs out his chest slightly, “I’m not a babe.”

“Aye, you’re not. But im gonna treat you like one anyway. You’ve seen this happen before, so you know how it works. Get over here, drop your breeches, and bend over my knee.”

Jon bites his lip to stop it from quivering and stands firm as Tormund sits down onto a large fallen log in the middle of the camp, “Tor… I-”

“Don’t. If I have to ask you again, little crow…”

Jon swallows his nerves and slowly creeps towards the Chief, he tries speaking in a quiet voice to him when he’s close enough, “Please, Tor… Not this…”

“You act as though I’m maiming you. Babes take this with less whining! Other clans would simply have you killed for deserting your group and costing the camp food.”

“I’ve… I’ve never…”

Tormund is confused for a moment but sighs, “Pup, I don’t give a fuck if you’ve lived cushy up until now. Drop your fucking breeches. You’ve used up my patience.”

The crow shudders at the command, hot shame sweeping over his body as he unfastens his belt and allows his clothes to collect round his ankles. Goose bumps prick up along his thighs as cool, but not harsh, air flows through them. His wrist is suddenly seized and the smaller man is pulled over Tormund’s lap where he lays almost dangling from the height, toes only just skimming the ground. Jon’s breathing becomes shallow but hot. Something different stirs within his belly. Especially when Tormund wraps an arm around his waist and smooths the creamy and slightly freckled skin of his arse with his free hand. When the caresses trail down the back of his thighs, dangerously close to where his rousing cock lays pressed against Tormunds body, Jon bites his lip to suppress a moan.

To combat his own submission, Jon stomps a petulant foot against the floor, “Will you just get on with it already?”

“Excited?” Tormund chuckles darkly.

“More like ready for this to be over and done with.”

“Aye, I bet. However, pretty little crow, you’re going to be over my knee for quite some time. We have things to discuss.” Tormund’s large palm is raised and slapped down. It has all of the firey haired man’s collective strength in it and jolts Jon forward with a humiliating squeak. This intensity is maintained throughout the steady rhythm that is applied. The crow is being rocked back and forth with every swat which is presumed to be a bad thing. Yes, his arse is under assault, but something else is brewing within him. And the motions only serve to rub Jon’s cock against the side of Tormunds thigh in an absolutely torturous way.

After a few minutes of this fast pace, Jon can’t help but let a few breathless moans fall out from his lips, poorly disguised as pained grunts. That’s not to say the state of his arse is good though. The burning somehow just keeps rising as the telltale deep aches of bruising shines through the intense stinging. He’s holding his composure fairy well, though, all things considering. That is until Tormund adjusts him forward slightly and starts to smack his thighs. Then all composure is quickly forgotten.  
The larger man laughs at the sudden rise in squeals and moaning, “There we go, pup. Does the baby crow have sensitive little thighs, hm?”

Jon lifts his head to speak for the first time since starting this. Watery eyes meet the collection of wildlings who are lingering in the area. In a vain attempt to fight, a loose fist is hit down onto Tormund’s hip, “Fuck you!”

As the Chief speaks he collects Jon’s wrists and holds them firmly to the small of his back, choosing to use only that as a response to being struck, “You wish. First I want you to explain to me why you thought fucking off into the woods alone after I had told you to stay with Bur was a good idea. Go on, little Omega. I’d LOVE to know.”

Jon fists and releases his hands to take the edge off the building sting, “Ralik and Bur were- Ah! They were actin’, owch, like I was stupid… AhAH! And… and then they s-ah-said you thought I couldn’t handle myself hunting…. And the-“

The swatting is paused to reposition Jon by pushing on the small of his back, effectively perking his ass out more, “They said that? Or did they tell you I said you were to stay with Bur because you’re an omega?”

“Well… It’s the same thing?” Jon sniffles and wipes his face with his hand. Honestly, the sexual aspect of the situation died quickly when the pain from his arse overpowered whatever pleasure he felt at the beginning.

The chief rolls his eyes and picks up where he left off, aiming for the little crow’s sit spots, “No. It means the fucking hound sized spiders are preparing to hibernate for the summer and are blind with fucking hunger, you brat. And they SENSE when Omegas are near. I told you to stay with Bur because his Beta scent would clog their senses.”

“Oh…”

“Aye, big oh. And I saw you already have 3 lash marks across yer arse. You were rude enough to Ralik for him to have to whip you in the middle the forest at the peak of spider season?”

“Ah, I don’t know!”

Tormund rolls his eyes and smacks the backs of the black haired man’s thighs down to his knees, “That’s not how you answer me, is it?”

“No… OWCH- NO, SIR!”

A sigh of relief leaves Jon’s lips as the offending hand stills. And then reaches for the razor strop that had been placed on the seat next to him. Hearing the movement, Jon looks over his shoulder to see Tormund adjusting his grip on the implement. He whines, flexing his thigh muscles and curling his toes to try and prepare himself for something his own father fought to save him from. When the hitting resumes with the thick leather, Jon is quiet. Quiet enough for Tormund to wonder if for some reason he couldn’t feel it. The wildlings who are pretending that they aren’t watching wince to themselves. The omegas, especially, have solemn expressions and Yergen looks over to Jon’s face from where he is sitting and carving a wooden rabbit, waiting for the inevitable break.

And then suddenly he isn’t quiet. Jon gasps out a huge breath of air he was holding in and dissolves into a choking and whimpering mess as his resolve breaks. His hands grasp wildly within their hold, managing to slip free momentarily before Tormund takes one and laces his fingers with Jon’s. The tender hand holding acts as the only thing keeping him grounded, his legs writhing as the leather bites into his upper thighs and sit spots. His free hand is now available for Jon to bite the sleeve to muffle his cries. Tormund keeps a strong hold on him and continues his fast pace. Honestly, he didn’t expect his heart to hurt like this. He thought Jon might become frustrated or uncomfortable, but not sob into the legs of the man causing his pain like a babe. His heart clenches when his crow becomes more vocal, “Tor, please… No more…”

“I’ll tell you when I’m finished with you. Hush, pup.”

By this point, the wildlings have lost interest. They had expected this to be a historical event. The ex King of the North taken over a wildling’s knee like a child? Scandalous! But no. It was a fairly standard affair. Just a misbehaving Omega being corrected.

“I-it hurtss Tormund! Please stop, AH! Please! I’m so sorry, sir! I.. I just wanted you to respect me. I thought I could prove to you I wasn’t just a weak Omega!!”

The strop is dropped onto the floor as Tormund sighs loudly, “I told you to speak to Yergen days ago. You obviously didn’t.”

“H-huh?”

The chief helps Jon stand on his weak legs and rights his clothes for him. Then, spins him around and sits the little crow on his lap. Much to Jon’s discomfort.

“If you had done as I asked we wouldn’t even be here. Because you’d know I don’t think of Omegas as fucking lesser things. Omegas are fucking essential to a functional clan! Omegas are the love and the nurture and the care in a community. They’re respected in a way that is deep in our hearts..” Tormund busies his hands with dabbing a cold cloth to Jon’s red face, “Oh, pup, don’t look so sad. You’re breakin my heart.”

“It hurts…”

“I know, darlin. But you shouldn’t have run off. Luckily you probably haven’t costed the clan food for tonight. Ralik and Bur can work overtime for their part in this.”

Jon sniffles and rests his head against Tormund’s shoulder, “I’m sorry, sir…”

“You are forgiven, little crow. That’s what having that arse of yers tanned was for. I want you to be able to forgive yourself after discipline like this. No one is angry with you anymore.”

They sit like that for a while. Jon being held and occasionally kissed upon his head. It makes him feel silly and childish, but no one around him is paying any attention whatsoever. Tormund doesn’t kiss better the other omegas he punishes… So why is Jon being doted on?

“How about you go take a nap in my tent. Yours has been packed away already.”

A lump forms in the smaller man’s throat, but he swallows it down, “Alone.”

“If you want.”

“What if I don’t want to be?”

“Then I could use a sleep myself,” Tormund leans back and delicately brushes a piece of hair from Jon’s face, “Is that what you want?”

“Is that weird?”

The chief scoffs, “Is it weird for an Omega to want to be held after a thrashing?”

Jon stays quiet.

“No, little crow. It’s normal. Of course I’ll be there for you. I may have been the one to bust yer arse but I’ll also be the one to kiss it better.”

A small, cheeky smirk forms on the black haired man’s face, “Is that a promise?”

Tormund laughs and shifts Jon off his lap, moving to stand himself. A swat to his behind makes Jon jump a little and turn back to the older man, but his glance is met with Tormund’s own smirk, “If you behave then absolutely.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Join my Jonmund discord!
> 
> https://discord.gg/TfWG5nb


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